


Of Landladies and Explosions

by greenstone



Series: Spanking Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:05:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenstone/pseuds/greenstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock learns that there is only so much experimental/accidental "redecorating" you can do before Mrs Hudson will put her foot down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Landladies and Explosions

**Author's Note:**

> I've suddenly realised that without it really being intentional, the various stories I've written about Sherlock being spanked involve most of the other main characters getting their hands on him at some point or other! So I've decided to post these little one-shots as a series. The only connection between the stories is that they're about Sherlock getting a spanking. Other than that they're not linked - they take place in differing time periods / universes and feature differing relationships etc.

John heard Mrs Hudson's bellow before he'd even opened the front door.

"Sherlock Holmes! _What have you done to my ceiling_?!"

As he pushed open the door, he heard the murmur of a reply. It didn't seem to do much to calm their landlady's rage. Her furious voice carried all too clearly from her flat into the hallway.

"Just an experiment?! _Just an experiment_?! It's not _just_ anything when half my ceiling is missing! It's wilful damage, that's what it is! I could report you to the police for this, Sherlock, if I wasn't..." She petered out over the empty threat, before finishing with a despairing moan, "Just look at my _ceiling_!"

John hesitated in the hall, unsure whether he wanted to get involved in this scene.

As he hovered, he heard Sherlock reply, "Do try not to fuss, Mrs Hudson." His tone bore the familiar authoritativeness and impatience, but also an edge of something that sounded like nervousness. John knew that, despite himself, Sherlock was feeling a bit guilty for whatever he'd done.

Predictably, the response did not pacify Mrs Hudson; she flared up again immediately. "Don't fuss? Don't _fuss_?!" She did seem to tend towards repetition when angry, John noted. He could see, as clearly as if he were in the room, the way Sherlock would be grimacing in irritation at this parroting of his words.

"I'll give you 'don't fuss', young man," said Mrs Hudson darkly, and John heard a confused series of sounds which ended in a kind of thwack, immediately followed by a loud exclamation of surprise from Sherlock. Too intrigued now to stay away, John crossed the hall and pushed open the door to Mrs Hudson's flat.

The sight that met him as he entered the room was not one he would ever have predicted in his wildest dreams. In the ceiling was a substantial hole, large enough for a man to fit through, which appeared to have been caused by some sort of minor explosion. The floor beneath it was scattered with bits of ceiling, and there was dust and plaster everywhere. But what made John gape in utter amazement were the two figures among the debris, who appeared to be locked in a kind of strange struggle.

Before John's astonished eyes, his haughty genius of a flatmate was squirming around in what could only be described as a thoroughly undignified manner, while sweet little Mrs Hudson, who John would have sworn couldn’t hurt a fly, was grasping tight to the waistband of his trousers with one hand and, with the other, whacking his backside in no uncertain manner with...what was that in her hand...ah yes, a wooden spoon.

John stared, open-mouthed, as Sherlock hopped about with none of his usual grace, protesting indignantly and trying to pull free.

"Ow! Mrs Hudson! Stop it right now! _Ouch_! Will you please stop this!"

Mrs Hudson ignored him. "You need to learn some manners, Sherlock Holmes! Honestly, what would your mother say? I'd be ashamed, if it was my son misbehaving the way you do."

"Yes, well, you're not my mother!" protested Sherlock, trying in vain to twist out of range of the spoon.

"I may as well be, dear, all the trouble you boys give me! Leaving me to tidy up after you all the time, worrying me to death with all your dangerous messes in the kitchen, damaging my property..." As she spoke, Mrs Hudson continued to firmly smack Sherlock's behind. He yelped embarrassingly.

"Ow! Stop it! I'll get your ceiling fixed, it's not a big deal!" Sherlock attempted to shield his backside with his right hand, but Mrs Hudson spanked round it. "John!" he appealed, craning his neck to try and make eye contact with his friend. "John, help me!"

John, who had been trying and failing not to laugh, simply burst into a new bout of giggles.

Mrs Hudson was glaring in outrage at Sherlock's previous words. "Not a big deal?" she repeated incredulously. "Not a big deal?! It most certainly is a big deal, Sherlock! It's a very big deal, and a very big hole too. Look at it! I can see your bloody _skull_ through it!" She whacked him again, hard, and added, as if by force of habit, "Pardon my French. But you really have gone too far this time, young man."

John peered up at the damaged ceiling again and saw that Mrs Hudson was right: visible through the gap was the mantelpiece of their fireplace upstairs, complete with skull. He wondered how stable the rest of the ceiling was. It didn't _look_ like it was about to crash down around them at any moment (along with the entire contents of their living room) but John was no engineer and he felt they might be safer getting out of there.

On the other hand, looking back at the other two occupants of the room, John decided he'd probably rather risk death by plummeting skulls than attempt to step into the middle of their little battle. Sherlock continued shifting around the room, trying to tug himself free, clearly unwilling to use force to push Mrs Hudson away. And Mrs Hudson was being dragged along behind, still holding on tight to his trousers, berating him loudly and at length, and continuing to rain down blows on his backside all the while.

Finally, with a last wallop, she relinquished her grip on Sherlock's waistband. He moved hurriedly away from her, rubbing his bottom for a moment before abruptly stopping himself and looking as if he were trying to gather his dignity.

The attempt wasn't very successful. His shirt had come mostly untucked with all the writhing around, his dark curls were messy and his cheeks were flushed. All in all he looked more dishevelled than John could ever remember seeing him before, and unusually young. When Mrs Hudson said, sternly, "You really are so naughty sometimes, Sherlock," he looked exactly like a rebellious but slightly shamefaced schoolboy.

"Now, you're going to make sure all this gets fixed up properly, young man," Mrs Hudson told him, gesturing with the wooden spoon for emphasis. "And don't you _ever_ think of exploding things in my house again. Dissections and microscopes and peculiar objects are one thing, but I won't stand for explosions. Honestly, what Mrs Turner next door will say when she hears about this…!" But Sherlock was already out of the room, eyes averted as he went, but a tiny incline of his head indicating his acquiescence to her demand.

John caught Mrs Hudson's eye. She sighed. "Honestly, I was hoping maybe you'd be a good influence on him, John dear, but he's as bad as ever. Can't you try and make him be a bit more sensible?"

John raised his eyebrows at her.

“I suppose that is probably too optimistic,” she admitted.

"To be honest, Mrs Hudson," said John, mouth twitching with amusement, "I think what I've just seen is the most effective method of reining Sherlock in that anyone's found yet. Maybe you should try that a bit more often!"

"Well, I don't know, dear, I'm not sure that he'd stand for it! But you're right in a way: he needs someone to take him in hand, be a little bit strict with him. He's a good boy, really, but he does need that firm hand sometimes. A few rules never hurt anyone."

John grinned. "You're a wonder, Mrs H. You've got to be the only person in the world who would ever describe Sherlock as a 'good boy'! I mean most people think he's a dangerous lunatic - and he hasn't even blown up their ceilings." He patted her arm fondly. "All I'm saying is, it's a damn good thing we've got you."

Mrs Hudson looked touched. "Oh, that's very sweet of you, dear, and really - "

"And I'll make sure he sorts this out," interrupted John, gesturing at the destruction around them. As Mrs Hudson opened her mouth again to resume, he moved hastily to the door and, with a friendly nod, escaped up the stairs to find his wayward flatmate.


End file.
